Art for Advent (24): ‘The Nativity,’ by Edward Burne-Jones

‘The Nativity,’ by Edward Burne-Jones

Patrick Comerford

As Advent comes to an end and as we prepare to celebrate Christmas, I have chosen as my last work of Art for Advent this Christmas Eve morning ‘The Nativity’ by Edward Burne-Jones (1833-1898).

This is my second choice of a work by this Pre-Raphaelite artist and is one of a pair of monumental paintings commissioned for the chancel of the Church of Saint John the Apostle in Torquay in 1887.

At the time, Torquay was a prosperous Victorian Devonshire seaside resort. The architect George Edmund Street, who also designed the rebuilding of Christ Church Cathedral, Dublin, was commissioned to design this Gothic Revival church in 1861. However, Street’s plans were revised a number of times over a period of 20 years, and the church was not completed until 1885.

The church was decorated by Morris & Co., the decorative arts firm founded in the 1860s by William Morris and Edward Burne-Jones.

Morris was a protége and former assistant of GE Street. But, while Street and Morris emphasised the rich polychromy of mediaeval art, and patterned ornament on walls, floors and ceilings, Burne-Jones was drawn to the spiritual intensity and symbolic narratives of paintings, sculpture and stained glass.

Burne-Jones designed the glass for the east and west windows in Saint John’s, the most important windows in the church. When the parishioners of Saint John’s commissioned two huge mural paintings from Burne-Jones for the north and south walls of the chancel in 1887 – ‘The Nativity’ and ‘The King and the Shepherd’ – they were closely following the overall decorative programme first sketched by Street in his designs of the 1860s.

Each of these large paintings by Burne-Jones measures 81 x 124 inches. These two paintings for Saint John’s were among his most original and elaborate treatments of the subject, and among his favourites.

Several of his studies for ‘The Nativity’ have survived. A pencil drawing that sold at Sotheby’s in New York last year (2012) places Saint Joseph on the right, while an 1887 pastel sketch in the New Art Gallery, Walsall, shows the final composition but a very different colour palette.

The position of the Virgin Mary and the Christ Child is similar to Burne-Jones’s design in 1879 for a bronze relief of the Nativity. The relief was commissioned by George Howard, 9th Earl of Carlisle, as part of a monument to his parents for Lanercost Priory, Cumbria, and a drawing of this design is in the Fitzwilliam Museum in Cambridge.

Burne-Jones began his work on the two paintings, ‘The Nativity’ and ‘The King and the Shepherd’ with small sketches in pastel, made at his home in Rottingdean, in April 1887.

His two sketches for ‘The Nativity’ indicate that the main motifs of the reclining Virgin Mary and the Christ Child, the three attending angels, and the landscape background were already fixed in his mind. However, the position of Saint Joseph changed from one of anxious attendance on the far right, to a seated, contemplative pose in the centre of the composition. This alteration increased his composition’s resemblance to the nativity scene on the walls of the Arena Chapel, near Padua, by the Italian painter Giotto (1266-1336).

Once the main elements were in place, Burne-Jones then began working on a series of studies of individual figures. Each of these was then traced, squared to be scaled up to life-size, and inserted into the overall design. The paintings were then executed in his studio.

‘The Nativity’ depicts the Virgin Mary reclining on a straw-filled manger or crib, protectively embracing the Christ Child in swaddling clothes. Saint Joseph, who has his back to the viewer, sits on the ground in the centre of the composition, reading a manuscript in Gothic script.

At the left, three angels are bearing the symbols of the Passion and Crucifixion: the crown of thorns, a container of myrrh and a chalice. These symbols are echoed by the Virgin’s white robe, reminiscent of a shroud, the child’s shroud-like swaddling clothes and the carefully formed draperies transforming the manger into a rustic bier.

These elements are also found in Giotto’s fresco in the Arena Chapel that influenced the initial design.

The mood is unusually solemn, even melancholy. In combining the scene of Christ’s birth with the portents of his death, Burne-Jones revives a subject that was popular in Europe during the 13th and 14th centuries.

Why did Burne-Jones adopt such a sombre interpretation of the Nativity, considering the Victorians had romanticised Christmas and enjoyed it lavishly?

He gives us some clues in the Latin inscription from the Psalms emblazoned across the golden sky in script similar to that in Saint Joseph’s book:

Propter miseriam inopum et gemitum pauperis nunc exsurgam dicit Dominus

“Because the poor are despoiled,
because the needy groan,
I will now rise up,” says the Lord” (Psalm 12: 5).

The quotation is from Saint Jerome’s Latin translation of the Septuagint. But the citation may not have been associated with the Nativity before its use in this context by Burne-Jones, yet is important in understanding his interpretation of this subject.

This citation may not have been associated with the Nativity before its use in this context by Burne-Jones, yet is important in understanding his interpretation of this subject.

Morris and Burne-Jones were strongly influenced by the Christian Socialism associated with the Anglo-Catholic movement. Burne-Jones was deeply worried about the plight of the working class and the impoverished and marginalised people in the slums and inner cities. He believed it was the artist’s role to “paint God for the world,” working with the artist’s “power of bringing God into the world – making God manifest. It is giving back her Child that was crucified to Our Lady of the Sorrows.”

In 1989, Saint John’s parish sold ‘The Nativity’ and its companion painting, ‘The King and the Shepherd,’ in 1989 to pay for a new roof for the church. Copies of the original paintings were hung in the place of the two original paintings, which were bought for £1.5 million by the composer Andrew Lloyd Webber.

Art experts visiting Lloyd Weber’s collection advised him that his fine Victorian drawings, many hung near windows, would suffer irreversible damage if continuously exposed to light. They advised him to move all the drawings to darker rooms, preferably to the very dark entrance hall that housed ‘The Nativity’ and ‘The King and the Shepherd.’

The problems of how to reorganise his collection and find a new place for his large works by Burne-Jones were very much on the composer’s mind in 1996 when he returned to Pittsburgh where his musical Jesus Christ Superstar had its world premiere in 1971.

In 1997, Lloyd Webber donated the paintings to the Carnegie Museum of Art in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, where his musical, Jesus Christ Superstar, had its premiere in 1971, hoping they would find a suitable and sympathetic home.

‘The Star of Bethlehem’ by Edward Burne-Jones

Birmingham Museum and Art Gallery now has the largest collection of works by Burne-Jones in the world, including his massive watercolour ‘The Star of Bethlehem,’ which was commissioned for the gallery in 1887. The paintings are believed by some to have influenced the young JRR Tolkien while he was growing up in Birmingham.

Burne-Jones laboured on ‘The Star of Bethlehem’ in his garden studio in Kensington, using a ladder to reach the upper areas of the composition. He complained that the painting was physically tiring: “Up my steps and down, and from right to left. I have journeyed as many miles already as ever the kings travelled.”

A contemporary critic praised the “strange and radiant” angel figure in the centre of the grouping, slightly upraised beside the kings bearing their presents, relating it to Burne-Jones’s “own peculiar vein of mysticism.”

Asked by a young girl whether he believed in the scene he had depicted in ‘The Star of Bethlehem,’ he replied: “It is too beautiful not to be true.”

Tomorrow: Art for Christmas (1): ‘The Nativity of Christ’ by Juliet Venter.

Art for Advent (23): ‘Ten Saints’ by Giovanni D’Angelo D’Amato

Ten saints depicted on two panels of a 16th century predella in Ravello by Giovanni D’Angelo D’Amato (Photographs: Patrick Comerford, 2013)

Patrick Comerford

While I was travelling through the Sorrento and Amalfi region of Italy earlier this year, I was delighted to find that each town and city had its own cathedral or duomo, and that each duomo, almost invariably had its museum, often with a treasure of art works collected locally but largely unknown beyond the locality.

Typical of these cathedrals is the Duomo in Ravello. Although Ravello is a small town with only 2,500 inhabitants, it is known for its annual opera festival and the town is a Unesco World Heritage site that includes the Villa Rufolo, where the gardens inspired the setting for Wagner’s Parsifal.

The Duomo in the town centre was originally built in 1086, although the later façade dates from the 16th century. Inside, there is a pair of striking pulpits.

The cathedral museum has a small but interesting collection of religious artefacts, and I have chosen two 16th century paintings from this museum as my choice of Art for Advent this morning [23 December 2013].

These two paintings, which are oil on wood, are the work of Giovanni D’Angelo D’Amato, and are part of a polyptych he painted for the Trinity Benedictine Monastery in Ravello, depicting the Transfiguration, Our Lady of the Rosary, and the Mysteries of the Rosary.

The abbey was suppressed in 1812, and the Benedictine nuns there were moved to the Monastery of Salerno. However, the convent and its possessions became the property of the Church of Saint Michael the Archangel in Torello. Later, the paintings were later moved from Torello to the cathedral museum in Ravello.

This morning’s paintings form a predella that depicts an array of saints and martyrs.

The first painting depicts (from left):

1, Saint Benedict, the founder of western monasticism.
2, Saint Hieronymus or Jerome, who translated the Bible into Latin (the Vulgate).
3, Saint Augustine of Hippo, one of the first systematic theologians; in a famous sermon, Saint Augustine said: “God was made man, that man might be made God.”
4, Saint Aniello, an Italian Franciscan saint.
5, Saint Pantaleon, a fourth century martyr who was the patron of medicine.

The second painting depicts (from left):

6, Saint Francis of Assisi.
7, Saint Leonard, a sixth century abbot and the patron of prisoners.
8, Saint Mary Magdalene.
9, Saint Scholastica, the twin sister of Saint Benedict.
10, Saint Ursula, who was martyred on a pilgrimage to Rome; she was from south-west Britain, and is shown here with the flag of England, the cross of Saint George.

I have not chosen these paintings because of their tenuous associations with Christmas – Saint Francis is credited with creating the first Christmas crib, while Saint Leonard was converted to Christianity at Christmas 496. Instead, I have chosen them because, with only two days to go to Christmas we should remember that our Christian faith has been handed down through the centuries by saints and martyrs, by faithful monks and nuns, by bishops and theologians, by writers and translators, and by the whole heavenly company.

Our Christmas celebrations should never forget how the faith has been passed on down the generations, often at a cost but always by people who trusted more in advent of the Kingdom of God than in the present attractions of the kingdoms of this world.

And these saints remind us that the Incarnation is an ever-present reality. As Saint Augustine once said: “Do not grieve or complain that you were born in a time when you can no longer see God in the flesh. He did not in fact take this privilege from you. As he says, ‘Whatever you have done to the least of my brothers, you did to me’.”

Tomorrow: ‘The Nativity,’ by Edward Burne-Jones

Teasing experiences of Four Seasons on the Fourth Sunday of Advent

Winter lights and snow clouds on the beach at Bettystown, Co Meath, this afternoon (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2013)

Patrick Comerford

The bite of the bitter chills of Christmas weather could be felt along the east coast this afternoon.

Earlier in the morning there was a clear blue above Christ Church Cathedral that looked deceptively like summer skies – but for the bare branches on the trees in front of the Chapter House. But by the time four of us got to Laytown in the afternoon for a late lunch in Bettystown, the rain had turned to sleet, and soon in turned to snow.

Deceptive blue skies but bare branches at Christ Church Cathedral this morning (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2013)

Yesterday was the winter solstice, and soon some smart people are going to begin repeating the well-worn Irish mantra: “It won’t be long before you start noticing a grand stretch in the evening.”

But this afternoon I noticed there the bite and chill of winter.

It was as though this Fourth Sunday of Advent was teasing us with some of the experiences of the Four Seasons on one day.

Earlier this morning, at 8.30, I had presided at and preached at the early morning Said Eucharist in the Lady Chapel in the cathedral.

Later, after a light breakfast in a pleasant café in Lord Edward Street, and a little time to skip through the pages of the Economist, I was back in the cathedral to preside at 11 a.m. at the Choral Eucharist.

The Lady Chapel in Christ Church Cathedral before the Said Eucharist early this morning (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2013)

The preacher was the Dean of Residence in Trinity College Dublin, the Revd Darren McCallig, and the setting was Tomás Luis da Victoria’s Missa Ave Regina Coelorum, sung by the Cathedral Choir – an appropriate setting for the Fourth Sunday of Advent, when the Gospel reading, the fourth candle on the Advent Wreath, and the Collect and Post-Communion Prayer traditionally remember the Advent role of the Virgin Mary.

This morning’s hymns included: O come, O come, Emmanuel! (Post-Gospel Hymn), by TA Lacey; Long ago, prophets knew (Offertory Hymn), by F. Pratt Green, with its rousing season chorus:

Ring, bells, ring, ring, ring!
Sing, choirs, sing, sing, sing!
When he comes,
When he comes,
Who will make him welcome?

And All for Jesus! all for Jesus! (Communion Hymn), by WJ Sparrow-Simpson, with its tune by John Stainer; and Lo! he comes with clouds descending (Post-Communion Hymn), by Charles Wesley, to the tune Helmsley, attributed to Thomas Olivers.

During the Communion, the choir was in ambulatory to sing a 14th century Latin motet to a setting by Francisco Guerrero (1527–1599):

Ave virgo sanctissima, Dei Mater
piissima, maris stella clarissima.
Salve semper gloriosa, margarita pretiosa,
sicut lilium formosa, nitens, olens velut rosa.

Hail, Holy Virgin, most blessed Mother of God,
bright star of the sea.
Hail, ever glorious, precious pearl, beautiful as the lily,
shining and giving perfume like the rose.

The splendour of Gormanston Castle this afternoon (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2013)

After coffee in the crypt, and a brief stop in Clontarf, four of us continued north for lunch, stopping on the way so a visitor from New York could see the splendour of Gormanston Castle and the unique Yew Walk in the grounds of my old school, Gormanston College.

Local legend and popular tales given currency by schoolboys say Lord Gormanston created this sculpted yew walk as a triangular-shaped cloister in the late 17th century to appease his daughter and to persuade not to become a nun.

As we were leaving Gormanston, there were heavy black clouds in the sky. As we turned east from Julianstown towards Laytown, the rain started to pour down. Although we still had good views of the river and estuary, we joked that no-one could describe this as “a grand soft day.”

As we drove north along the “Gold Coast” of Co Meath, it was a matter of gold turning to silver as the rain turned to sleet, and then – by the time we got to Bettystown – turning to snow.

Snow on the terrace and tables outside Relish in Bettystown, Co Meath, this afternoon (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2013)

We got a table by the window at Relish, and sat watching the brown, snow filled choppy waters beating against the sands of the shore.

As we waited for our food, two of us descended the steps behind Relish, and as we photograph the winter scene, the snow suddenly stopped, the clouds turned to white and the sky to blue, and there was a blue reflection along the waters in the ripples in the sand. It was possible to imagine we could see as far as the Co Down coast to the north and the Mountains of Mourne that sweep down to the sea.

Looking south towards Laytown from the beach at Bettystown this afternoon (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2013)

We lingered in the warmth of the welcome at Relish, over an accompanying bottle of Pinot Grigio, and stayed even longer with four double espressos in this winter wonderland. How long is going to be this pleasant? Snow, ice and heavy rain is threatening to sweep across these islands with flooding and severe disruption to traffic over the next 24 hours.

Snow clouds above the Irish Sea at Bettystown this afternoon (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2013)

Dreaming dreams and being obedient to God’s promises

The Dream of Joseph, Georges de la Tour (1593-1652)

Patrick Comerford

Christ Church Cathedral,

Sunday 22 December (The Fourth Sunday of Advent)

8.30 a.m., Said Eucharist (the Lady Chapel).

Isaiah 7: 10-16; Psalm 80: 1-7, 17-19; Romans 1: 1-7; Matthew 1: 18-25.

Matthew 1: 18-25

18 Τοῦ δὲ Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ ἡ γένεσις οὕτως ἦν. μνηστευθείσης τῆς μητρὸς αὐτοῦ Μαρίας τῷ Ἰωσήφ, πρὶν ἢ συνελθεῖν αὐτοὺς εὑρέθη ἐν γαστρὶ ἔχουσα ἐκ πνεύματος ἁγίου. 19 Ἰωσὴφ δὲ ὁ ἀνὴρ αὐτῆς, δίκαιος ὢν καὶ μὴ θέλων αὐτὴν δειγματίσαι, ἐβουλήθη λάθρᾳ ἀπολῦσαι αὐτήν. 20 ταῦτα δὲ αὐτοῦ ἐνθυμηθέντος ἰδοὺ ἄγγελος κυρίου κατ' ὄναρ ἐφάνη αὐτῷ λέγων, Ἰωσὴφ υἱὸς Δαυίδ, μὴ φοβηθῇς παραλαβεῖν Μαρίαν τὴν γυναῖκά σου, τὸ γὰρ ἐν αὐτῇ γεννηθὲν ἐκ πνεύματός ἐστιν ἁγίου: 21 τέξεται δὲ υἱὸν καὶ καλέσεις τὸ ὄνομα αὐτοῦ Ἰησοῦν, αὐτὸς γὰρ σώσει τὸν λαὸν αὐτοῦ ἀπὸ τῶν ἁμαρτιῶν αὐτῶν. 22 Τοῦτο δὲ ὅλον γέγονεν ἵνα πληρωθῇ τὸ ῥηθὲν ὑπὸ κυρίου διὰ τοῦ προφήτου λέγοντος,

23 Ἰδοὺ ἡ παρθένος ἐν γαστρὶ ἕξει καὶ τέξεται υἱόν,
καὶ καλέσουσιν τὸ ὄνομα αὐτοῦ Ἐμμανουήλ,

ὅ ἐστιν μεθερμηνευόμενον Μεθ' ἡμῶν ὁ θεός. 24 ἐγερθεὶς δὲ ὁ Ἰωσὴφ ἀπὸ τοῦ ὕπνου ἐποίησεν ὡς προσέταξεν αὐτῷ ὁ ἄγγελος κυρίου καὶ παρέλαβεν τὴν γυναῖκα αὐτοῦ: 25 καὶ οὐκ ἐγίνωσκεν αὐτὴν ἕως οὗ ἔτεκεν υἱόν: καὶ ἐκάλεσεν τὸ ὄνομα αὐτοῦ Ἰησοῦν.

18 Now the birth of Jesus the Messiah took place in this way. When his mother Mary had been engaged to Joseph, but before they lived together, she was found to be with child from the Holy Spirit. 19 Her husband Joseph, being a righteous man and unwilling to expose her to public disgrace, planned to dismiss her quietly. 20 But just when he had resolved to do this, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said, ‘Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife, for the child conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. 21 She will bear a son, and you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.’ 22 All this took place to fulfil what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet:

23 ‘Look, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son,
and they shall name him Emmanuel’,

which means, ‘God is with us.’ 24 When Joseph awoke from sleep, he did as the angel of the Lord commanded him; he took her as his wife, 25 but had no marital relations with her until she had borne a son; and he named him Jesus.

May I speak to you in the name + of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, Amen.

Our readings this morning [22 December 2013] bring us into the last week of Advent. Christmas is upon us, most of the presents have been bought, most of the cards have been sent, most of the trees are up and dressed, and the last of the purple candles on the Advent Wreath is being lit at the Sung Eucharist later this morning.

This last candle represents the Virgin Mary, and in most cathedrals and churches this morning, Mary is likely to be the heroic figure in sermons focusing on our Gospel reading.

Those sermons are likely to talk about Mary and her obedience, Mary’s “Yes.” And Joseph may be pushed to the side of the stage. He says “Yes” too, but he says it silently; he has no scripted lines; he has no dramatic part or role; he is mute; but he is obedient. And, like Joseph, his namesake in the Old Testament who is named in the Psalm (Psalm 80: 1-7, 17-19), he too is dreamer of dreams and a doer of deeds.

Saint Matthew’s nativity story lacks the romantic images we have with Saint Luke, whose heady mixture of heavenly angels and earthy shepherds is missing.

Instead, the hope of all the earth takes shape under the sign of arrangements being made for a betrothal that is apparently violated. The gifts of God’s grace and the promise of God’s reign are hidden, are to be searched for and are to be found in the midst of what appears be a very tawdry story.

I imagine Mary may have been a mere teenager at the time, just 14 or 15. And, like so many other teenage brides, she turns up for her wedding – pregnant! Joseph knows he could not possibly be the father. He decides quietly drop out of the arrangement.

If Joseph goes ahead, then this child is going to be known in his family, among his neighbours, perhaps by everyone who needs to know, as illegitimate for the rest of his life.

These fears and sneers, those social judgments and wagging fingers, must have been running rapidly through Joseph like a nightmare. Yet the angel of Joseph’s dream makes a startling suggestion. He tells him to marry Mary, and then he is to name the child. To take on naming the child means becoming his father. And this suggested not as a nice thing to do, or a courteous thing to do, or a gallant or gentlemanly sort of thing to do. Joseph is told why: “You are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins” (verse 21).

It is not a promise of immediate reward. Joseph is not offered the promise that if he behaves like this he is going to earn some Brownie points towards the forgiveness of his own sins; that God will see him as a nice guy; or even that if he lives long enough this child may grow up, be apprenticed to him, take over the family business, and act as a future pension plan.

Instead, the promised pay-off is for others as yet unknown. “He will save his people from their sins.” The forgiveness spoken of here is spoken of in apocalyptic terms. It is the declaration of a new future. To be forgiven is to receive a future. Forgiveness breaks the simple link between cause and effect, action and reaction, failure and disaster, rebellion and recrimination.

It is the fulfilment of the ancient prophecy, Matthew declares (verse 22): the hope of all the ages, the beginning of the end of all the old tyrannies, the restoration of everything that is and will be, was always meant to take place in a virgin’s womb, in the manger, on the cross.

That is Advent. It is a time of expectation, repentance and forgiveness. It is a time of preparation, anticipation and hope. It is a time for dreaming dreams, and putting behind us all our nightmares.

The dream in our Gospel reading is the dream of Joseph, not Mary’s dream. In Saint Matthew’s Gospel, the angel appears not to Mary, but to Joseph.

Joseph dreamed something wonderful. God would enter the world; God would be born to his new, young wife, Mary. But to believe this, Joseph had to trust not only his dream, but to trust Mary, to trust the future child, to trust God.

Do you love the people you trust and trust the people you love?

To trust Mary, Joseph must have truly loved Mary. But trust in this predicament must have gone beyond trust. Joseph must have truly glimpsed what it is to trust God, to have hope in God, to love God, to have faith in God.

Joseph dreams a dream not of his own salvation, but of the salvation of the world.

Do you trust that God is working through the people you love? Do you trust that God is working through people you find it difficult not to love but merely to like … working through God’s people for their salvation?

Too often we forget about poor Joseph. Every year, we tend to focus on the story of Mary. But this morning we are told the annunciation is an event not just for Mary, but for Joseph too. And they both say “Yes.”

Joseph has a second dream and faithfully responds to God’s call a second time

And Joseph says a second Yes too. Later in this Gospel, in the Lectionary reading for next Sunday, the First Sunday of Christmas, we read:

Now after they had left, an angel of the Lord appeared to Joseph in a dream and said, ‘Get up, take the child and his mother, and flee to Egypt, and remain there until I tell you; for Herod is about to search for the child, to destroy him.’ Then Joseph got up, took the child and his mother by night, and went to Egypt, and remained there until the death of Herod. This was to fulfil what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet, ‘Out of Egypt I have called my son’ (Matthew 2: 13-15).

Joseph listens, God sends a messenger again, Joseph dreams again, and he remains true to God, he answers God’s call.

Joseph has no speaking part; he just has a walk-on part in this drama. But his actions, his obedience to God’s call, speak louder than words.

Yes, God appears over and over again, to men, women, to “all sorts and conditions of people.”

But do we trust them?

Can you have faith in someone else?

Can you believe their dreams?

Can you believe the dreams of those you love?

And dream their dreams too?

As Dean Samuel G. Candler of Saint Philip’s Episcopal Cathedral in Atlanta, Georgia, suggests in a sermon on this Sunday six years ago: “Believe in the dreams of the person you love. Believe in dreams this Christmas, and Jesus will be born again. Believe in dreams this Christmas, and God will appear. Amen.”

The Gospels are silent about the intimate details of Joseph. But then, Joseph too is silent in the Gospels. I sometimes thought Joseph was the worst part to play in the school nativity play … a walk-on part, but no lines to say.

Joseph has no speaking parts at all. All we know is he lived in Nazareth in Galilee before the birth of Christ (Luke 2: 4).

Joseph does not speak. Instead, Joseph dreams and Joseph listens.

He listens to the angel who tells him not to divorce Mary (Matthew 1: 20-21), and does what the angel of the Lord tells him (Matthew 1: 24).

When the law commands it, Joseph takes his pregnant wife to Bethlehem (Luke 2: 4), and the child is born there.

After the birth of Christ, Joseph listens to an angel in another dream – and, silently, he does as he is told, and without mumbling or grumbling gets up and takes the Mother and Child into Egypt (Matthew 2: 13-14).

When Herod dies, Joseph is told by the angel in yet another dream to return with Mary and Jesus from Egypt (Matthew 2: 19-21).

Then Joseph learns in a fourth dream Herod Archelaus is in power in Judea, and he is warned in a dream to move to Galilee. And so, Joseph takes the mother and child to Nazareth and they settle there (Matthew 2: 21-23).

The last time Joseph appears is when the family visits the Temple in Jerusalem when Jesus is about 12 (Luke 2: 41-52). Bu there is no mention ever again of Joseph.

Did he hear Jesus preach in the synagogue?

Did he see him heal?

Was he too at the Wedding at Cana?

Well, we do not know.

Like his namesake Joseph in the Old Testament, Joseph in the Gospels is a dreamer. Most dreamers are good on ideas but weak on delivery, dreamers but not doers. But Joseph in this morning’s Gospel is both a dreamer and a doer.

What if Joseph had rolled over and had another 40 winks after each of those dreams? What if Joseph said No at each turn?

At different times, we’ve all pondered Mary’s potential “No” at each turn. But, what if Joseph said No, had divorced Mary, left Jesus to be brought up by a single mother?

What if Joseph decided to stay at home and Jesus was born in Nazareth?

What if Joseph had ignored the warning and stayed on in Bethlehem, so that the new-born child was found by Herod’s troops hunting down all the new-born children?

What if Mary and Jesus moved back from Egypt to Bethlehem or Jerusalem, and became victims of the murderous schemes of Herod Archelaus?

What if Joseph and Mary had failed to find the teenage Jesus when he got lost in the Temple?

What if?

We often think that dreamers need to take their heads out of the clouds and get their feet back firmly on the ground. We often think that those who have little to say have little to contribute.

Joseph proves how wrong we can be. Joseph is a dreamer and Joseph is a doer. Joseph plays a key role in the great story of salvation. Does it matter what he does afterwards? No. It just matters that he did what he was asked to do. We leave the rest to Christ.

And so, may all we think, say and do be to the praise, honour and glory of God, + Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, Amen.

Collect

God our redeemer,
who prepared the blessed Virgin Mary
to be the mother of your Son:
Grant that, as she looked for his coming as our saviour,
so we may be ready to greet him
when he comes again as our judge;
who is alive and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit,
one God, now and for ever.

Post Communion Prayer

Heavenly Father,
you have given us a pledge of eternal redemption.
Grant that we may always eagerly celebrate
the saving mystery of the incarnation of your Son.
We ask this through him whose coming is certain,
whose day draws near,
your Son Jesus Christ our Lord.

Canon Patrick Comerford is Lecturer in Anglicanism, Liturgy and Church History, the Church of Ireland Theological Institute. This sermon was prepared for the Said Eucharist in the Lady Chapel, Christ Church Cathedral, on the Fourth Sunday of Advent, 22 December 2013.

Art for Advent (22): Presepe in Duomo dei San Filippo e Giacomo, Sorrento

The Nativity scene inside the main doors of Sorrento’s cathedral is on display all year (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2013)

Patrick Comerford

In our Gospel reading this morning, the Fourth Sunday of Advent (22 December 2013), we read Saint Matthew’s account of the Nativity (Matthew 1: 18-25), and the fourth and final candle on the Advent Wreath which is lit this morning, is a reminder of the Virgin Mary.

My choice of a work of Art for Advent this morning is the Presepe or diorama, the traditional nativity scene in the Cathedral in Sorrento, the Duomo dei San Filippo e Giacomo.

Although Christmas in Italy has become more-and-more commercialised and internationalised each year, it is not all that long ago since the main Christmas decorations were limited to the traditional presepio or presepe, or nativity scene, which reached an high level of intricate detail in recent decades.

The tradition of recreating the Nativity with a presepio (the word literally means crib) dates back to the 13th century.

These nativity scenes are examples of Italian rustic art, and are often very elaborate affairs, and feature scenes conflated from the first Christmas alongside imaginative scenes from 19th century towns and villages. They often have hundreds of hand-made figures, individually and lovingly crafted, including artisans in traditional costumes working at their trades and merchants and bankers at their stalls and tables carrying out their daily business.

The manufacturers now even make figures of celebrities, sports stars and politicians to place in the presepio along with the traditional characters. In some places, you may see Barack Obama or Silvio Berlusconi among the shepherds.

Each church erects elaborate Nativity displays with these hand-carved miniatures depicting scenes from the Christmas story and every-day old town scenes. Many families also have one in their home and shops sell complete stable scenes, or the figures to make your own, in the weeks before Christmas.

Part of the Nativity scene inside the main doors of Sorrento’s cathedral is on display all year (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2013)

In Sorrento, the Christmas celebrations still focus on the Nativity, with many events and concerts. During December, the churches in Sorrento have had their presepio or nativity scene on display. However, in the duomo or cathedral, it seems as it is forever Christmas, for the large presepio just inside the main doors is on display all year.

The cathedral, dedicated to the apostles Saint Philip and Saint James, stands halfway along the Corso Italia in the heart of Sorrento. It was first built in the 11th century was rebuilt in the Romanesque style in the 15th century, and has a marble altar, pulpit and throne dating from the 16th century, and a pair of 12th century doors from Constantinople.

The cathedral, which I visited a few times this year, is best known for its collection of 17th-century art, including paintings by Giacomo del Po and Oronzo Malinconico. The Italian poet Torquato Tasso was baptised in the baptistery which has been restored.

Part of the Nativity scene inside the main doors of Sorrento’s cathedral is on display all year (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2013)

Tomorrow: ‘Ten Saints’ by Giovanni D’Angelo D’Amato.

Art for Advent (21): ‘Cossacks’ by Wassily Kandinsky

‘Cossacks’ by Wassily Kandinsky

Patrick Comerford

My choice of a work of Art for Advent this morning is ‘Cossacks’ by Wassily Kandinsky (1866-1944).

This abstract painting in oil on canvas was painted in 1910-1911 and measures 94.5 x 130 cm. Although it is not on display at present, it is held by the Tate Gallery in London, and was presented by to the Tate in 1938 by Mrs Hazel McKinley, who bought it from the artist through Guggenheim-Jeune of London.

In a letter to a friend at the time, Kandinsky wrote: “An American woman living in London has bought a pre-war painting from me and presented it to the Tate Gallery in I.ondon! It is the first truly modern painting in the famous museum in London. The painting is called ‘Cosaques,’ dates from the year 1911, still bears traces of ‘the object’ but makes nevertheless a wholly ‘concrete’ impression.”

When I came across the work of Kandinsky in art classes as a teenager at school, my first reaction was “Painting as Music.” Later, I garsped what Kandinsky meant when he said: “Music is the ultimate teacher.”

Once, while I was moving into a new house, I was given as a present a print of this painting, and it was the first work I placed on a wall. I cannot find the print now, but this remains one of my favourite works of art.

This painting was made during a transitional period, when he retained some representational elements, such as the two Russian cavalrymen in tall orange hats in the foreground of the painting. Kandinsky considered these as points at which the images could be registered, rather than the true content of the painting.

The painting has been variously known as ‘Cossacks,’ ‘Improvisation 17,’ ‘Battle,’ ‘Fragment for Composition 4’ and ‘Composition 4 (Fragment).’ The title ‘Cossacks’ has been used consistently by the Tate because it is the one Kandinsky seems to have preferred at the time of its acquisition. It was painted at a time in Kandinsky’s career when he was living in near Munich and moving rapidly from a form of Expressionism towards Abstraction.

The “traces of ‘the object’” which Kandinsky mentions are as follows: in the upper left portion of the picture are two horses rearing up against each other, their front legs interlocking. Each has a Cossack rider wearing a tall fur hat which Kandinsky has painted orange-red. Each is swinging a long curved sabre, painted mauve. Below the horses is a rainbow bridging a valley, and to the left of that, what appear to be two batteries of guns, one of which is firing, producing a cloud of red and orange fame.

A building on the other side of the valley suggests a castle on a hill. Below it are three more Cossacks, distinguished by their orange hats. Two Cossacks carry long black lances while the third has his arm extended and is leaning on his sabre.

A flock of birds flies in an agitated state in the sky.

The feeling of conflict is vividly expressed by the structure of powerful diagonal lines that tilt, clash and intersect. All horizontals or verticals are rigorously excluded so there is nowhere for the eye to rest.

The focus of this restless linear structure is the group of the horses and the building outlined in thick black lines occupying the upper central part of the picture. Around this focal area, Kandinsky has distributed elements of strong colour – the Cossack hats, the rainbow and the gunfire – that further distract the eye and reinforce the disturbing effect.

In Kandinsky’s own catalogue it is dated 13 January 1911, although the date 1910 is on the picture itself.

Vassily Vassilyevich Kandinsky (1866-1944) is an influential Russian painter who is credited with painting the first purely abstract works. Born in Moscow, art and music, ranging from traditional Russian religious icons and Rembrandt oils to a performance of Wagner’s Lohengrin, left profound impressions on him as well. He spent his childhood in Odessa before studying law and economics at the University of Moscow.

He began painting at the age of 30 and he moved to Munich in 1896. He returned to Moscow in 1914, but with the rise of Communism he returned to Germany in 1921 and taught at the Bauhaus school of art and architecture until it was closed by the Nazis in 1933. He then moved to France where he lived for the rest of his life, and became a French citizen in 1939.

He was raised in the Russian Orthodox Church and maintained these beliefs throughout his entire life, except during a short period in his youth. He died in Neuilly-sur-Seine in 1944.

But, apart from a personal liking for the work of Kandinsky, why do I think this is an appropriate painting to consider in the closing days of Advent?

Kandinsky once wrote: “The artist must train not only his eye but also his soul.” He believed that abstract paintings could convey spiritual and emotional values simply through the arrangement of colours and lines. Writing in 1911 in Concerning the Spiritual in Art, he defines three types of painting: impressions, improvisations and compositions. While impressions are based on an external reality that serves as a starting point, he believes improvisations and compositions depict images emerging from the unconscious, even though composition is developed from a more formal point of view.

Kandinsky compares the spiritual life of humanity to a pyramid – the artist has a mission to lead others to the pinnacle with his work. The point of the pyramid is those few, great artists. It is a spiritual pyramid, advancing and ascending slowly, even if it sometimes appears immobile. During decadent periods, the soul sinks to the bottom of the pyramid; and humanity searches only for external success, ignoring spiritual forces.

He says the colours the painter uses evoke a double effect: a purely physical effect on the eye, which is charmed by the beauty of colours, similar to the joyful impression when we eat a delicacy. This effect can be much deeper, however, causing a vibration of the soul or an “inner resonance” – a spiritual effect in which the colour touches the soul itself.

For Kandinsky, art is born from the inner necessity of the artist in an enigmatic, mystical way, and through this it acquires an autonomous life, becoming an independent subject, animated by a spiritual breath.

For Kandinsky, warmth is a tendency towards yellow, and coldness a tendency towards blue; yellow and blue form the first great, dynamic contrast. Yellow has an eccentric movement and blue a concentric movement; a yellow surface seems to move closer to us, while a blue surface seems to move away. Yellow is a typically terrestrial colour, whose violence can be painful and aggressive; blue is a celestial colour, evoking a deep calm. The combination of blue and yellow yields total immobility and calm, which is green.

Clarity is a tendency towards white, and obscurity is a tendency towards black. White and black form the second great contrast, which is static. White is a deep, absolute silence, full of possibility. Black is nothingness without possibility, an eternal silence without hope, and corresponds with death. Any other colour resonates strongly with its neighbours. Mixing white and black produces grey, which possesses no active force, and whose tonality is near that of green. Grey corresponds to immobility without hope; it tends to despair when it becomes dark, regaining little hope when it lightens.

Red is a warm colour, lively and agitated; it is forceful, a movement in itself. When red is mixed with black it becomes brown, a hard colour. When red is mixed with yellow, it gains in warmth and becomes orange, which imparts an irradiating movement on its surroundings. When red is mixed with blue, it moves away from humanity to become purple, which is a cool red. Red and green form the third great contrast, and orange and purple the fourth.

Kandinsky deplores art that “becomes the satisfaction of vanity and greed … a scramble for good things … of excessive competition, of over-production … this aimless, materialist art.”

He denounces the narcissism of “art for art's sake” – “this neglect of inner meanings … this vain squandering of artistic power” with its consequence that “hungry souls go hungry away.”

Instead, he urges, art must “feed the spirit” by revealing “the internal truth of art, the soul.” This is its prophetic calling in serving society. The artist must “be a priest of beauty.” Beauty itself is that “which springs from the soul,” and is anchored in the sacred.

Kandinsky wants to recapitulate the experience of walking through an Orthodox Church, which is full of pastel colours. Yet, as he says, it does not matter whether the church is Orthodox or Catholic. The experience is the same whether it is in churches in Moscow or chapels in Bavaria and the Tyrol – it is an artistic experience of religion and a religious experience of art, a sense of the easy and seamless merger of religious and artistic experience. The interiors of the churches and chapels Kandinsky visited are brightly and intricately coloured, as he appreciates, so that the excitement of colour and of inner life converge.

Kandinsky suggests the role of the artist is to separate out the spiritual from the material. Art should be an “advance into the kingdom of the abstract.”

Can you identify with Kandinsky’s description of the spiritual qualities of colours?

What does the purple of Advent mean to you?

Tomorrow: Presepe in Duomo dei San Filippo e Giacomo, Sorrento.

Art for Advent (20): ‘Love and the Pilgrim,’ by Edward Burne-Jones

‘Love and the Pilgrim,’ by Edward Burne-Jones

Patrick Comerford

As our pilgrimage through Advent moves into its closing days, I have chosen as my work of Art for Advent this morning [20 December 2013] the painting Love and the Pilgrim by Edward Burne-Jones, and now in the Tate Gallery.

The design dates from the early 1870s, but the painting was not started till 1877 and Burne-Jones laboured over it for the next 20 years – I suppose we could call it a labour of love – and he completed it only in 1896-1897. This is his last major work completed before his death in 1898.

Burne-Jones found the idea of Love guiding a Pilgrim on his quest in The Romaunt of the Rose by the mediaeval poet Geoffrey Chaucer, a book that Burne-Jones had read while he was a student at Oxford.

Although this painting does not illustrate a particular episode in the story, the figure of Love is based on Chaucer’s description:

And also on his heed was set
Of roses rede a chapelet.
But nightingales, a ful gret route,
That flyen over his heed aboute.

This is a strange and sombre, yet compelling, painting. In a bleak landscape, the stooped pilgrim is torn by thorns and still half-tangled in them as Love with an out-stretched arm helps him to step out and onto clear ground as Love steps forward with one foot on solid ground.

Although the theme of the painting is clearly not religious, the depiction of Love as a winged angel and the questing figure as a pilgrim recall religious imagery. Love’s wings are surrounded by a flock of birds, symbolising liberation and the flight to freedom.

Love is leading the hunched figure of the pilgrim through the thicket, out towards the hallowed plain. The dark wings of the angel are pre-Raphaelite in detail, with authentic eagle’s wings.

The painting is one of three illustrating a journey that begins with The Pilgrim at the Gate of Idleness. In this series, a personified Love escorts the Pilgrim from the Gate of Idleness, through a grey, eerie landscape in Love Leading the Pilgrim, eventually bringing him to his goal in The Heart of the Rose.

The use of mediaeval subjects and love-related themes is typical of Edward Burne-Jones and his work, and the paintings present a complex statement about love, in which the experience of love brings both pleasure and pain.

When he exhibited the painting at the New Gallery in 1897, Burne-Jones added two lines from Algernon Swinburne’s ‘Tristram of Lyonesse’ (1882) in the catalogue:

Love that is first and last of all things made
The light that morning has man’s life for shade.

These lines speak of the confusion of hope and despair, yet struggle to find hope in despair.

The painting sold for £5,775, and it was later acquired by the Duchess of Sutherland. By 1943, the taste for works by Burne-Jones had faded so much that the National Art Collection bought this painting for £94 10 s, and gave it to the Tate.

Sir Edward Coley Burne-Jones (1833-1898) is the most important painter among the second wave of Pre-Raphaelites. He is closely identified with the later phase of the Pre-Raphaelite movement, and he worked closely with William Morris on a wide range of decorative arts as a founding partner in Morris, Marshall, Faulkner, and Company.

Burne-Jones was closely involved in the rejuvenation of stained glass art in England. I first came to know his work in 1970 when I first visited Saint Editha’s Church in Tamworth, Staffordshire. I was there to see the Comberford Chapel in the north transept and was captivated by his stained glass windows in the neighbouring chapel, Saint George’s Chapel, where the east windows were designed by Burne-Jones.

These windows, ‘The Angels of Creation,’ connect the story of the creation of humanity with the story of the incarnation. The glass was in the workshop of William Morris in 1874, and the windows are a memorial to Robert Peel, MP for Tamworth, who died in 1872. Saint Editha’s also has windows by William Morris and by Ford Madox Brown.



I have also gone to see stained glass windows by Burne-Jones in Saint Philip’s Cathedral and Saint Martin in the Bull Ring, Birmingham, the Chapel of Jesus College, Cambridge, All Saints’ Church, Jesus Lane, Cambridge, Christ Church Cathedral, Oxford, Saint Carthage’s Cathedral, Lismore, and Fisherwick Presbyterian Church, Belfast.

Two windows showing ‘Prudence’ and ‘Fortitude’ was originally intended as part of a three-light window for Saint Patrick’s Cathedral, Dublin. His design for the central light was never completed and the window was never executed.

Edward Coley Burne Jones (he later hyphenated his name) was born in Birmingham on 28 August 1833. He went to King Edward VI Grammar School, Birmingham, from 1844 and the Birmingham School of Art from 1848 to 1852, before studying theology at Exeter College, Oxford, where, as an Anglo-Catholic, he intended to seek ordination in the Church of England.

At Oxford, he became a friend of William Morris, and with a small group of friends from Birmingham they formed a close and intimate society that they called “The Brotherhood.”

The members of the Brotherhood read John Ruskin and Tennyson, visited churches, and idealised the Middle Ages. At the same time, Burne-Jones discovered Thomas Malory’s Le Morte d’Arthur which became influential throughout his life.

Morris and Burne-Jones were also influenced by the work of Dante Gabriel Rossetti, and they commissioned him him as a contributor to their Oxford and Cambridge Magazine founded by Morris in 1856.

Burne-Jones had intended to become an Anglican priest, but under Rossetti’s influence both he and Morris decided to become artists, and Burne-Jones left Oxford in 1856 before taking a degree to pursue his career in art. Morris went to work with the architect George Edmund Street, while Burne-Jones moved to London to study with Rossetti.

In 1859, Burne-Jones travelled to Italy with John Ruskin where he saw and greatly admired the early Italian Renaissance painters like Botticelli, da Vinci, Michelangelo and Mantegna, whose work provided much of his inspiration. In all, he would make four visits to Italy, travelling from Venice to Rome, Florence, Siena and the hills and towns of Tuscany.

In 1860, Burne-Jones married Georgiana ‘Georgie’ MacDonald (1840–1920), the daughter of a Methodist minister and one of the MacDonald sisters from Wolverhampton. She was 19, he was 27, and they were married on 9 June, the anniversary of the death of Dante’s Beatrice. Later, Burne-Jones was an uncle by marriage of the Prime Minister Stanley Baldwin, and of Rudyard Kipling.

Although his early paintings were heavily inspired by Rossetti, by the 1860s Burne-Jones was discovering his own personal style and developing his own distinctive approach, using mediaeval models but invigorating them with fresh and modern looks.

In 1861, Burne-Jones and William Morris co-founded the decorating firm that became Morris & Co. Their work was deeply influenced by the architecture of AWN Pugin and the Anglo-Catholic Movement. They made several thousand stained-glass windows in their workshops and the biblical scenes designed by Bourne-Jones, as well as his arrays of saints and angels were endlessly recycled, ordered from the catalogue presented to the clients of Morris & Co.

Two significant secular commissions helped establish the firm’s reputation in the late 1860s: a royal project at Saint James’s Palace and the “green dining room” at the South Kensington Museum (now the Victoria and Albert Museum) of 1867 which featured stained glass windows and panel figures by Burne-Jones.

In 1871, Morris & Co installed the windows at All Saints’ Church, Cambridge, designed by Burne-Jones for Alfred Baldwin, his wife’s brother-in-law. But for much of the 1870s Burne-Jones did not exhibit, following a spate of bitterly hostile attacks in the press, and a passionate affair with his Greek model Maria Zambaco that ended with her attempted suicide.

Like many young intellectuals of his age, he lost his faith at one stage. “Belong to the Church of England?” he once asked. “Put your head in a bag!” But he never lost his love of what he described as “Christmas carol Christianity,” with its colour and joy, and much of his work was commissioned for churches such as his creation and annunciation scenes in Saint Editha’s, Tamworth, or his ‘Angels of the Hierarchy’ and ‘Annunciation’ windows in the Chapel of Jesus College, Cambridge.

He was given the title of baronet in 1894, although he was unhappy about accepting the honour, which disgusted his socialist friend Morris and was scorned by his socialist wife Georgiana.

Morris died in 1896. Burne-Jones was devastated and his health declined substantially. In 1898 he had an attack of influenza, and had apparently recovered, when he was again taken suddenly ill, and died on 17 June 1898.

Six days later, at the suggestion of the Prince of Wales, a memorial service was held at Westminster Abbey. It was the first time an artist was honoured in this way. He was buried in the churchyard at Saint Margaret’s Church, Rottingdean.

Tomorrow: ‘Cossacks’ by Wassily Kandinsky.

Christmas scenes in the unique carvings in Lichfield Cathedral

The Nativity scene on the triptych (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, cover and p 52, Lichfield Gazette, December 2013)

Patrick Comerford

The Herkenrode stained glass has long been one of the major visitor attractions in Lichfield Cathedral. The glass was acquired for the cathedral in Belgium in 1803, and its eagerly-awaited return to the East End is expected to make the Lady Chapel look even more beautiful.

But putting anticipation aside, it is worth visiting the Cathedral in these weeks before Christmas to see the whole Christmas story – from the Annunciation and the Visitation through the Nativity to the Presentation in the Temple and the Visit of the Magi – told in the colourful triptych that forms the reredos for the altar in the Lady Chapel.

The colourful triptych that forms the reredos in the Lady Chapel tells the full Christmas story (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, p 52, Lichfield Gazette)

This carved wooden reredos dates from 1895. It is a triptych (three-part) altarpiece with high relief scenes from Oberammergau, the Bavarian town that is better known for its Passion Play.

But the wooden carvings were designed in England rather than in Germany. The Tractarian artist Charles Eamer Kempe (1837-1907) designed the reredos. Kempe was best known in the late Victorian period best known for his stained-glass windows, some of which can also be seen in the cathedral. The Church Historian, Owen Chadwick, says Kempe’s work represents “the Victorian zenith” of church decoration and stained glass windows.

As he worked on the designs for the altarpiece, Kempe was deeply conscious of the history of the cathedral and of the Lady Chapel, with its highly unusual octagonal apse. The Lady Chapel, dedicated to Saint Mary and Saint Chad, dates from the 14th century, and was incorporated into the main part of the cathedral in the 18th century. Kempe kept the dedication in mind as he drew up his plans for the reredos, which was then carved by Oskar Zwink in his family’s famous studio in Oberammergau.

The central panel of the reredos shows a Nativity scene, with the Virgin Mary and the shepherds in the middle, then the Annunciation (upper left), Mary’s visit to her cousin Elizabeth (lower left), the Adoration of the Magi (upper right) and the Presentation in the Temple (lower right). Much of the artwork is gilded with gold leaf while other areas are polychromatic paintwork.

The Annunciation portrayed on a panel on the triptych (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, p 52, Lichfield Gazette)

David, Isaiah, Saint John the Baptist and Saint Chad are depicted on the back of the two doors, which are seen only when the triptych is closed. On either side of the Nativity scene itself are four carved figures: Saint Ambrose, Saint Jerome, Saint Augustine, and Saint Gregory – four of the seven patristic saints who are also carved on the south wall of the cathedral.

For generations, the Zwink family has been associated with the Passion Play, and the influences of the Passion Play can be seen in the style of the figures in the panels. This dramatic influence is more visible in the reredos Kempe and Zwink produced for Saint Andrew’s Church in Burnley in 1898. In Burnley, the central panel depicts the crucifixion, while the four side panels depict the passion like scenes from the Passion Play in Oberammergau.

The Visitation of Mary to Elizabeth depicted on a panel on the triptych (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, p. 54, Lichfield Gazette)

Kempe’s reredos was designed to fit in with his reordering of the Lady Chapel, for which he designed the statues of female saints, carved by Farmer and Brindley and installed on the walls of the Lady Chapel in 1895.

The Presentation in the Temple, carved on a panel on the triptych (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, p. 54, Lichfield Gazette)

Kempe also designed half the windows in Lichfield Cathedral, including the Hacket Window (1901), celebrating the completion of the Victorian restoration, the Barnabas Window (1898), Saint Stephen preaching to the Sanhedrin (1895), and the imposing South Transept window, ‘The Spread of the Christian Church’ (1895). He was also commissioned to restore the Saint Chad’s Head Chapel.

The Visit of the Magi seen on a panel on the triptych (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, p. 54, Lichfield Gazette)

The large ‘Jesse Tree’ window by Clayton and Bell in the North Transept illustrates the Biblical genealogy of Christ, crowned in the upper section of the centre light with the Virgin Mary holding the Christ Child.

As you leave the cathedral, pause to look up at the magnificent West Window, which also shows the Birth of Christ. This window by Clayton and Bell was inserted after the window tracery was redesigned by George Gilbert Scott in the 1860s. The Virgin Mary and the Christ Child are greeted on the right by Joseph and the Archangel Gabriel and on the left by the three wise men bearing their gifts. Below, six smaller panels depict the Annunciation, the Angel’s visit to Joseph at night, the Nativity, the Journey of the Magi, the Magi visiting Herod, and the Flight into Egypt.

The Virgin Mary stands with the Christ Child, a Christmas scene carved by Mary Grant in the centre of the west door of Lichfield Cathedral (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, p. 54, Lichfield Gazette)

As you leave through the porch to the right of the West Window, stop to see the Victorian statues within the porch which are the work of Mary Grant (1831-1908). There, in the centre of the West Doors, the Virgin Mary stands with the Christ Child. Mary Grant was a granddaughter of Thomas Bruce, Earl of Elgin, ever-remembered for plundering the marbles from the Parthenon in Athens. Her work is unusual for a Victorian woman, for the physical strength sculptors needed made their work a virtually all-male preserve.

At the West Door, Mary Grant’s Virgin Mary supports her life-like infant gently. The Christ Child has one arm raised in blessing. Next to them on the left stands Saint Mary Magdalene, holding ointment, making a clear link between Christmas and the Incarnation and Easter and the Resurrection.

Mary Magdalene at Easter … a sculpture by Mary Grant at the west door of Lichfield Cathedral (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, p. 54, Lichfield Gazette)

Further Reading:

Michael Greenslade,(ed), ‘Lichfield Cathedral,’ A History of the County of Stafford: Volume 14: Lichfield (1990).
Nikolaus Pevsner, The Buildings of England: Staffordshire (London: Penguin, 1974).
Patricia Scaife, The Carvings of Lichfield Cathedral (Much Wenlock: RJL Smith for Lichfield Cathedral, 2010).
` Patricia Scaife, The Stained Glass of Lichfield Cathedral (Much Wenlock: RJL Smith for Lichfield Cathedral, 2009).

The Lady Chapel in Lichfield Cathedral is awaiting the restored Herkenrode stained glass (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, p. 54, Lichfield Gazette)

This essay and these photographs were first published in the Christmas 2013 edition of Lichfield Gazette, pp 52-54, in December 2013

Art for Advent (19): ‘Madonna of the Village,’ by Marc Chagall

‘Madonna of the Village,’ by Marc Chagall

Patrick Comerford

My choice of a work of Art for Advent this morning is ‘Madonna of the Village,’ by Marc Chagall. This painting, which dates from 1938-1942, is oil on canvas. It measures 102.5 x 98 cm and is in the Museo Thyssen-Bornemisza, Madrid.

Marc Chagall added his signature and two dates to the bottom left corner of the painting (“mArc ChAgAll 1938-942”), referring to its start and completion dates.

In 1938, Chagall was living in Paris, and spending some time also on a farm at Villentrois in Indre-et-Loire. In 1939, he became concerned about his possible arrest and decided to move to Saint Dyé-sur-Loire. He collected his paintings from his Paris studio and took the works to Saint Dyé in a taxi with the help of his daughter Ida.

As German troops advanced towards northern France, the family moved to the south of France on 10 May 1940, and Chagall bought a house in Gordes in the Provence-Alpes-Côte d’Azur region, and his works were brought there in a van.

In the winter of 1940-1941, he resumed work on ‘The Madonna of the Village’. The painting in its final state shows the Madonna holding the Christ Child in her arms, surrounded by angels singing and playing music accompanied by a flying cow with a violin. The scene is set near a small village. The Madonna, rendered on a monumental scale and wearing a bridal gown, floats in a fantasy world that is so characteristic of the painter.

The canvas, which was initially around 20 cm taller, was cut down at the lower edge, so that Chagall removed the motif of the cockerel, symbol of sun and fire. From the 1930s, this bird is linked in Chagall’s work with pairs of lovers and can be associated with love. It could also refer to the bird sacrificed on Yom Kippur.

The removal of this motif from the composition altered the relative importance of the three layers into which it is structured, reducing the earthly zone painted in grey-brown tones at the Virgin’s feet and giving more importance to the blue area of the sky and the upper level in yellow that is filled with angels.

The image of the Virgin is similar to the votive images in Catholic tradition believed to offer protection against catastrophes. Chagall had already made use of Christian iconography, particularly in ‘White Crucifixion,’ in which Christ represents the suffering of the Jewish people.

Chagall continued working on this ambitious canvas and repainted some of the areas that were already sketched. The painting was not entirely completed until 1942, while he was staying in New York.

The Russian-French artist Marc Zakharovich Chagall (1887-1985) has been described as “the quintessential Jewish artist of the 20th century.” He worked in virtually every artistic medium, including painting, book illustrations, stained glass, stage sets, ceramic, tapestries and fine art prints.

Marc Chall, ‘America Windows’ (1977)

His stained glass windows are in the cathedrals in Reims and Metz, the Fraumünster Cathedral in Zurich, and Saint Stephen’s Church, Mainz, but his best-known windows are probably those in the UN Building in New York, the Jerusalem Windows in a hospital in Israel, and his ‘America Windows’ (1977) in the Art Institute of Chicago. The six-panel work ‘America Windows’ celebrates the US as a place of cultural and religious freedom, detailing the arts of music, painting, literature, theatre and dance.

He was born Moishe Segal into a Jewish family near Vitebsk in what is today Belarus on 6 July 1887. His family steeped in religious life and his parents were observant Hasidic Jews whose life was defined by their faith and organised by prayer.

He moved to St Petersburg, then the Russian capital, and before World War I, he travelled between St Petersburg, Paris, and Berlin. During that period he created his own mixture and style of modern art based on his idea of East European Jewish folk culture. He spent World War I in Belarus before leaving for Paris in 1922.

In December 1940, the Emergency Rescue Committee found Chagall in Gordes. As a Jew who was classified as a “Degenerate” artist, he was a target for the Nazis. An invitation to exhibit at the Museum of Modern Art, New York, facilitated his departure from France. The Fund for Jewish Refugee Writers collected the funds needed for his travel and visas.

On 7 May 1941, Marc and Bella Chagall left for New York, leaving their daughter Ida in France. Their journey took them across the French-Spanish border and through Madrid to Lisbon, where they had a lengthy wait before embarking for New York in mid-June.

Their heavy luggage included 600 kg of paintings, some completed and others still being worked on, as well as gouaches and drawings, all in trunks and packing cases.

After an eventful journey ‘The Madonna of the Village’ was reunited with Chagall, who resumed working on it again and completed it in 1942, even before he received his first major commission in the US.

In 1946, the Museum of Modern Art in New York in collaboration with the Art Institute of Chicago devoted a major retrospective to the work of Chagall, which was the first in the US. He returned to France in 1947. Back in France, he painted the ceiling of the Paris Opera in 1963.

“When Matisse dies,” Pablo Picasso once said, “Chagall will be the only painter left who understands what colour really is.” He died on 28 March 1985 at the age of 97 in Saint-Paul-de-Vence, France.

The only church in the world with a complete set of Chagall window-glass is in the tiny village of Tudeley in Kent. His last commissioned work is the window on the north side of Chichester Cathedral. This stained glass window, designed and created by Chagall at the age of 90, was commissioned by Dean Walter Hussey and was inspired by Psalm 150: “Let everything that hath breath praise the Lord.”

Tomorrow: ‘Love and the Pilgrim,’ by Edward Burne-Jones.

Art for Advent (18): ‘Christmas (Noel), 1946,’ by Salvador Dalí

‘Christmas (Noel), 1946,’ by Salvador Dalí

Patrick Comerford

My choice of a work of art for an Advent meditation this morning is ‘Christmas (Noel), 1946,’ by the Spanish surrealist Salvador Dalí.

Salvador Domingo Felipe Jacinto Dalí i Domènech (1904-1989), known as Salvador Dalí was a Spanish surrealist painter born in Figueres, in Catalonia.

Dalí was a skilled draughtsman, best known for the striking and bizarre images in his surrealist work. Dalí was strongly influenced by Freud and Einstein and was obsessed with science, psychology, and math. He was a major inspiration from many modern artists, including Damien Hirst.

Dalí’s best-known work is The Persistence of Memory (1931). But his work also included film, sculpture and photography.

Dalí was highly imaginative, and enjoyed indulging in unusual, grandiose behaviour. He declared his “love of everything that is gilded and excessive, my passion for luxury and my love of oriental clothes.” His eccentric manner sometimes attracted more attention than his art.

Dalí fled Spain during the Civil War (1936-1939), and refused to align himself with any group. Although he had prospered in France during the years that followed, he fled France at the outbreak of World War II.

George Orwell accused Dalí of “scuttling off like a rat as soon as France is in danger.” In a review of Dalí’s autobiography in 1944, Orwell wrote: “One ought to be able to hold in one’s head simultaneously the two facts that Dalí is a good draughtsman and a disgusting human being.”

After World War II, Dalí returned to Catalonia and moved closer to the Franco regime, congratulating Franco for “clearing Spain of destructive forces” and praising him for signing death warrants for prisoners.

Dalí also returned to the Roman Catholic faith and became increasingly religious as he got older. He died in 1989.

For over 20 years, Dalí produced dozens of greeting cards for the German pharmaceutical company Hoechst, which sent his Christmas Cards to doctors and pharmaceutical representatives in Spain.

This morning’s work is one of Dali’s Christmas cards, dating from 1946, and provides the surrealist expression of waiting for Christmas.

We see a winter scene adorned with the traditional Christmas trees. One of the interesting things about this work is the space in the middle. Dalí is known for his use of space, particularly negative space. Here we see an empty space flanked by two arched structures. There is an empty space to be filled.

Where does this gap lead to? It opens to nothing, just vast empty land. Is this an Advent space, waiting to be filled by the arrival of Christ?

Tomorrow: ‘Madonna of the Village,’ by Marc Chagall.

Art for Advent (17): ‘The Holy Family’ by Giovanni Battista Pittoni

O come, O come, Emmanuel … the Holy Family by Giovanni Battista Pittoni, the Altar Piece in the Chapel of Sidney Sussex College, Cambridge, was bought for 20 guineas in 1783 (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

Patrick Comerford

My choice of a work of Art for Advent this morning [17 December 2013] is The Holy Family by Giovanni Battista Pittoni, which is the Altar Piece in the Chapel of Sidney Sussex College, Cambridge.

Sidney Sussex College was founded in 1596, and built on the grounds of Greyfairs, the old Franciscan house in Cambridge.

It is probably true that the one surviving building from the old Greyfriars was the refectory and kitchens, and that these were converted into the college chapel. However, the present chapel in Sidney Sussex dates from 1780, when the last buildings of Greyfriars on the site were torn down.

The new chapel was re-designed by James Essex in the 1770s. It appears he had tough taskmasters, as he produced four plans for redesigning the chapel before he was allowed to proceed with his work. In the end, it was an impressive makeover of a plain if evocative 17th century religious space, meeting the classical tastes of the day.

One of the most striking features on entering the chapel is the remarkable Catholic altar-piece, The Holy Family, by the Venetian painter Giovanni Pittoni, which was bought in 1783 for 20 guineas in 1783, 16 years after the death of the artist. This Catholic work of art and its presentation might have been unthinkable in Puritan days at Sidney Sussex, when Oliver Cromwell was an undergraduate.

Giovanni Battista Pittoni, or Giambattista Pittoni (1687-1767) was born in Venice and was a painter of the late-Baroque or Rococo period. He studied painting under his uncle Francesco Pittoni and Antonio Balestra, but we know little about his early career.

He worked briefly in Bologna, but in later years never left his native Venice, although he completed a number of important commissions from German, Polish, Russian, Italian and Austrian patrons. He was known for his “grand-manner” canvases depicting religious, historical, and mythological subjects, and his contemporaries included Giovanni Battista Tiepolo. He died in Venice 1767.

The interior of the chapel in Sidney Sussex College, Cambridge, with The Holy Family, by the Venetian painter Giovanni Pittoni, above the altar (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

By the early 19th century, Sidney was a very small college in terms of undergraduate admissions. And so it must have been a surprise for many Victorians period that was in effect an Anglican seminary. The “massive” Victorian, Robert Machray, became Canada’s first Anglican archbishop. The controversial Anglo-Catholic, Thomas Pelham Dale (1821-1892), was jailed in 1880 for his ritualism. Later, John Wale Hicks, who became Bishop of Bloemfontein, was typical of his time in publishing books on both doctrine and inorganic chemistry.

Despite this theological history, the reforms at Cambridge from 1850s on, and despite being resisted fiercely by the Master of Sidney, Robert Phelps, changed Sidney’s intellectual course forever. From the largely theological and mathematical college it had been for its the first two centuries or so, it became a power-house in the rapidly expanding medical, natural, physical and chemical sciences, due principally to the inspiration of Clough Williams Ellis.

The laboratories that once stood along the Sidney Street wall beyond A Staircase, now a bicycle shed, were among the first in Cambridge. There, a string of important experiments were carried out by the metallurgist FH Neville. Neville’s portrait hangs at the top of the stairs leading to the Old Library. Following his conversion in 1904, Neville became the first-ever Roman Catholic fellow at Sidney Sussex ... the Jacobite master, Joshua Bassett, might have been pleased.

The chapel in Sidney Sussex College was extended and its neo-baroque interior was completed between 1911 and 1923 (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2013)

Meanwhile, the chapel, which had been redesigned by James Essex, was proving to be inadequate in size. It only extended to half its present length. However, between 1911 and 1923, TH Lyons completed the present proportions of the chapel, along with its fine neo-baroque interior.

His work suited the High Church complexion that had become part of the life of Sidney by then. Lyons altered and lengthened the chapel, and gave it elaborate oak-panelled walls, a variegated marble floor and Sidney’s distinctive bell turret. The side chapel has the reserved sacrament.

In transforming the sanctuary of Cromwell’s college into an Anglo-Catholic chapel, the Edwardian high churchmen inscribed above Pittoni’s Catholic Venetian altar-piece, The Holy Family, in large, capital, gilt letters the Latin phrase: “Gvstando Vivimvs Deo.” Those words, “gustando vivimus deo,” “by tasting we live in God,” are taken from the seventh century Latin hymn for Easter Vespers, The Lamb’s high banquet we await.

Some more recent additions to the chapel include the panels of stained glass fragments that have been inserted into the antechapel window. These fragments were unearthed during the archaeological investigations about half a century ago in 1958 and they appear to come from the mediaeval windows of the former Franciscan church.

Until about the 17th century, Saint Joseph is often depicted in art as a man of advanced years, with grey hair, usually bearded and balding, and occasionally frail. He is presented as a comparatively marginal figure alongside the Virgin Mary and Jesus Christ, as in this altarpiece by Giovanni Battista Pittoni in the Chapel of Sidney Sussex College.

Tomorrow: ‘Christmas (Noel), 1946,’ by Salvador Dalí.